


Cankerous Venom

by Empy (Empyreus)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Caning, Coercion, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Fingerfucking, Humiliation, Intoxication, Kissing, Kneeling, Licking, Lies, Lust, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Master/Pet, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Obedience, Pain, Poison, Potions, Revenge, Sleep Deprivation, Slightly Underage, Spells & Enchantments, Submission, Swords, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teenagers, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-23
Updated: 2004-06-23
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3143429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empyreus/pseuds/Empy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps revenge was a dish best served cold, Severus mused. A generation cold by now, as he would make Draco Malfoy pay for what Lucius had done so many years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cankerous Venom

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during Draco's seventh year at Hogwarts.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Mild caning and bloodplay.
> 
> Thanks to [](http://littlemimm.livejournal.com/profile)[**littlemimm**](http://littlemimm.livejournal.com/) , [](http://shalna.livejournal.com/profile)[**shalna**](http://shalna.livejournal.com/) and [](http://tvillingar.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://tvillingar.livejournal.com/)**tvillingar** for the beta and endless patience. (And for not laughing at me.)

There were so many potions not in the curriculum, many more than Severus could name offhand. If he did not teach them to students, they would have no way of knowing how to counteract them. And that, Severus smiled, was precisely what played in his favour. How could flaxen-blond Draco Malfoy hope to clear the taint of the potion from his blood if he did not know what he was being made to drink in the first place? Well, perhaps "made" was an ill-chosen word. It would involve so little coercion on his part, so pale white a lie about cures if it came to convincing. Draco trusted Severus more than he trusted Madame Pomfrey, and of course he would do as his Head of House told him to do.

Draco Malfoy, self-proclaimed ruler of the Slytherin House. Seventeen years old, no longer naïve. Legal, by most accounts, even though that hardly mattered to Severus.

Perhaps revenge was a dish best served cold, he mused. A generation cold by now, as he would make Draco Malfoy pay for what Lucius had done so many years ago. However, that was only the topmost reason, the one he could serve up to himself when he faltered.

 _Make him taste his own medicine. Make him bow to the cane in helpless humiliation._ He didn't need to close his eyes to see the memory. Seventh-year Slytherin prefect Lucius Malfoy, already then every inch the dandy, leading around his chosen pet, a scared and cowed second-year student named Severus Snape.

"Well then, Snivellus, bow to your master. I said bow down!" Then a lash of the cane, ebony meeting skin and bone. Of course he had bowed then, fallen to his knees in the draughty Slytherin common room, his ribs pulsing with pain. What else could he do? Oh, he knew death spells and spells that incapacitated, but his mouth would not form the words. He was caught in Lucius's trap like a fly in treacle, and the more he struggled, the worse it all got. He was a galley slave now, and he had never been given a choice.

Of course he had fallen for Lucius. Everyone did, but he had never dared play for popularity, never even thought of trying to gang up with Lucius's band of chosen wizards. Fate, being her usual cruel self, had stepped in to arrange things for him, however. He had been picked. There was no declining that offer, he soon found out, and no way out. He had not been chosen by virtue of looks, or reputation, but merely because Lucius Malfoy had decided he needed someone to humiliate. A personal pet. There were no rewards for Severus for obedience, nor was there ever respite.

"You don't need sleep, Snivellus. Up with you. You're standing guard by my bed tonight." And he did so, obeyed because there was no other choice. He sat on the cold floor, shaking, with his hands pressed to his ears to keep out the noise of Lucius entertaining some casual lover in his bed.

He saw the same cruelty in Draco, but fancied that perhaps the features weren't already set in the cold hard lines of the Malfoy clan. He could beat Lucius at his own game. There was time yet, he told himself.

 

A potion of Severus's own devising, this one. It was not pure Thessalian philtre, but half poison and half philtre. Venereal venom. Aconite and nightshade, jimsonweed and mandrake, their poisons distilled and mixed with the nectar of the Solandra trumpet plant. Enough of all venoms to make the victim giddy and pliant for a moment, then drowsy and elated, easily aroused. The potion was a mellow amber colour, like a tongue of liquid flame caught in the narrow glass vial. The higher the full moon rose this night, the more potent the draught would be. Oh, he knew he was toeing the line of propriety, even stepping boldly and carelessly across it. Still, weren't all things allowed in lust and merciless deception? He wouldn't think to call the potion a love potion. No, never, because the word burned on his tongue. Love was a lie to him, but lust was honest - so why not call it a philtre for lust? It was the same alchemy harnessed to work as it was when he blended poison, and there was death in every vial but under a hundred different names. What would it matter if he changed an incorrect name for a more honest one?

There was time yet, so there was no rush for him to set into action his sinister little game. He swiftly crossed the paved courtyard, heading for a slight rise on the neatly manicured lawns. Leaning against the wide bole of an oak nearby, he watched the seventh-year Slytherin students attempt defensive spells. Crabbe, still the towering oaf, was paired up with Draco, and though he couldn't hear their voices, Severus knew that Crabbe would fail when casting the jinx.

His suspicion was confirmed in the next moment. Crabbe gave a great wave of his wand, his mouth forming the misshapen jinx, and Draco had little time in which to decide which counter-curse to use. In the end, he resorted to a spell stronger than he should have, and the impact of the two jinxes knocked him backward.

"Crabbe, you gibbering fool," sneered Severus as he rushed over, studiously ignoring the rest of the students and the professor. "Were you attempting a kill or a spell?" He didn't care to hear Crabbe's explanation, and leaned down to help Draco to his feet. "Knowing you, Mr Crabbe, you're as likely to have bungled the spell beyond recognition as you are to have bodily hurt him. On your feet, Malfoy. We'll need to have you seen to, all to ascertain that the ever-able Mr Crabbe hasn't managed somehow to cause massive internal injury in this his latest megalomaniacal, not to mention misguided, attempt at spell-casting."

"Drink this, Malfoy," he said as he walked alongside his tall protégé, leading him away from the other students. The glass vial twinkled briefly in the dying light of day before Draco closed his hand over it. "It takes the edge off the counter-jinx tremors." He was rewarded with a thin smile, but it was genuine and reached the pale grey eyes. Draco was like his father, so much like Lucius. His trust was not given easily, but Severus knew so well how to choose his words to gain what he needed. He had had practice with the elder Malfoy, had had time to formulate his plan to perfection, and Draco's youth aided him. Ultimately, it was all down to subtlety. Crabbe may have helped the plan along unwittingly, thanks to his clumsiness, but the larger part was still waiting to be unfolded.

Draco asked nothing about the draught, only upended the vial and drank it all down obediently. He furrowed his brow briefly, then licked his lips as if to catch a last taste. Severus wouldn't have been surprised if Draco's tongue had been forked; so serpentine was the blond wizard that walked next to him over dark-emerald grass that was slowly withering from the autumn chill.

Draco's step suddenly faltered, jarring against the sodden ground. "Steady now," murmured Severus, grabbing a handful of black robes. "Perhaps you took too great a stun?"

"Was bloody Crabbe, the idiot," muttered Draco, his voice sounding nearly slurred. "Waved his wand like a conductor, couldn't be happy with a flick. Idiot," he reiterated, and only then seemed to realize he was being led toward the wrong entrance. "Where--" he began, but stopped as Severus gave a curt wave of his hand.

"Be silent, Malfoy. You didn't honestly think I would bodily haul you all the way up to the infirmary to have that insufferably fussy Madame Pomfrey mismedicate you?"

 

The stairwell leading down to the dungeons was like the maw of a Grim, but Severus knew the way and remembered each chipped step of the stairs. Few students walked in the cellar hallway unless they had to, hence his walking Draco down the stairs and in the direction of the dungeons did not constitute a risk. He snuffed the candles lining the hallway with jerky, ruthless motions of fingers and hands; he burned his palms not once but thrice. For each extinguished candle, Draco's gaze deepened, as much a trick of the light as an indication that the potion was working its way through the boy's veins. He was mercifully quiet, as though he knew well what was to come, and that suspicion had a brief chill race down Severus's spine. _Only the philtre_ , he told himself, _only the effects of the potion_.

The ward spells around the door to his private quarters were strong enough to keep outside those who were unwanted.

Draco had barely set foot inside the room before his knees buckled, and he slid to the floor in an ungainly heap, all his elegance gone. Severus, not one foot behind him, had to pull him to his feet, and it was no easy task. Draco's limbs lolled, and he seemed unable to even stand on his own. The philtre was exerting too strong an influence on the boy, all because of the full moon.

Draco leaned his whole body to the side as Severus lifted him to his feet. In a swift but unsteady movement, he pressed a light kiss to the side of Severus's mouth, his thin hands snarling into the wide folds of Severus's cloak. He was smiling, giddy now and elated, constantly on the edge of laughter. Severus wanted to kiss him, steal from Draco the words that might undo his entire plan.

How Draco differed from all the others, he mused. It was not the weight of the name he carried or even his icy good looks that afforded him his status, but simply the way he carried himself. There was no doubt in his mind that he was better than those around him, and every time he caught Severus's eye, there was a glint in the pale eyes that spoke of both arrogance and calm superiority.

Now the calm had gone, but the arrogance was still visible in Draco's gaze. His movements were slowed by the potion, but he was still highly aware of what he was doing. His limbs were still gangly from the last vestiges of adolescence, but there was nothing weak in the arms that hooked around Severus's neck. Severus had to duck out of the kiss, mindful of the potion that still lingered on Draco's lips. He pushed Draco's head gently but determinedly to the side. He would not go along with his plan while Draco was addled out of his mind. No, that would take all the sport out of it. Severus half led, half dragged Draco over to the bed, pushing the boy down on the black coverlet.

As Draco's outer cloak billowed open, Severus could see that Draco had his wand tucked into the waist of his trousers, and he clucked his tongue in displeasure. Silly boy. They thought it so practical, when all they were doing was keeping their genitals in constant peril. The wand was honey maple, two shades darker than the hair of Draco's nape, and it was skin-warm. He parted the folds of the black winter cloak back, then undid the clasp. Draco barely stirred, his arm lolling limply over the edge of the bed. Perhaps he overdid it on the potion, Severus thought, wrapping his hand around Draco's fine-boned wrist and feeling for a pulse. No, his fear was unfounded. The pulse was rapid enough to suggest Draco would be lucid. There were a few murmured words as Draco shifted, scooting further down on the bed.

Half of the drowsiness was an act. When Severus bent down, placing his hands on both sides of Draco's head, there was a twitch in the long neck, and as he pressed a kiss to Draco's lightly parted lips, the kiss deepened without coercion. Clever boy.

Draco's hair, previously so carefully smoothed back, had long since tumbled into hopeless disarray, flaring out like some inverse ink stain, albino-pale against the dark coverlet. The school tie slithered over the edge of the bed as Severus dropped it, and he watched the silver-and-green fabric coil on the floor. Green and silver, deep mercurial silver accents just like the colour of Draco's eyes. Shaking an insistent mental image of Lucius's eyes away, Severus made quick work of the buttons of Draco's white shirt.

Draco was less scrawny than his looks let on. Being constantly flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, he was thrown into harsher light. He rarely went anywhere without these two thugs, but Severus knew it went no further than that. Stubborn and spoiled, perhaps, but Draco was not wholly without taste. Had he let Crabbe or Goyle closer, there would have been tell-tale marks. Marks that he, Severus, knew to watch for. Draco's skin was unblemished as of yet, stretched over lithe muscle like silk wrapping. Pale, just like his infamous father's skin, with a few birthmarks. One near the hollow of his throat, and one just over the high arch of his hipbone, near a long line of white scar tissue.

"Wicked clever plan, Snape," said Draco suddenly, his voice a hoarse drawl. His eyes were still closed. "Poisoning me. Father'll find out sooner or later."

Severus gave an impatient snort. "You didn't honestly think I would give you poison, did you? My, that sharp Malfoy mind has grown dull of late."

"You wouldn't dare hurt me," said Draco, his eyes now wide open and an even paler shade of grey than usual in telltale contrast to the defiance in his voice.

"But what I'm offering isn't ordinary pain, foolish boy," said Severus, ladling sugar into his voice. "That, I'm afraid, is all too base for my purposes." He leaned close, his nose nearly touching Draco's. "And who has said anything about daring?"

The lassitude that the potion brought weighed heavy in Draco's limbs, slowing his reluctance to a feeble clenched-finger grasp on Severus's robes. "You don't play fair," Draco half-accused, his voice lowered by the draught he so willingly had swallowed.

Of course he didn't. Members of House Slytherin were not known for honesty or fairness. Salazar had carefully chosen those he knew would not fail him, and it had been the duty of every head of House Slytherin since to see to that the pupils learned the subtle and wonderful art of manipulation. "Of course not," said Severus, his lips very close to Draco's ear. So close up, he could see the dilated pupils bleed into the steely grey as though wellsprings had opened in the boy's eyes. He let his hand slide down the smooth plane of Draco's chest, feeling the lightest scrape of hair against his palm. He knew the touch would be almost painful, knew every minute response the drug elicited.

"Who hurt you?" Severus asked under his breath, letting the nail of his index finger follow the white whiplash. He did not intend to let Draco hear the question, and he was not interested in the answer. Draco himself wasn't in any position to answer, and all he did was arch his back lazily upwards, the small of his back lifting from the dark bedsheets. An arch of desire, a monument to lust, Severus thought ruefully, half reminiscing the times he had bent his spine as high. Draco was young, but not younger than Severus was the first time earth turned sky for him.

Draco's eyes widened as he caught sight of the cane Severus was holding. It had been a tricky thing indeed to procure it, to make sure that the shady craftsmen of Knockturn Alley manufactured a copy without asking too many questions. Galleons by the pile had littered the grimy and pockmarked desks during the transactions, but that was all forgotten and accounted for. Draco's look more than made up for it all. Now Severus knew where the serpent-like scar was from. He should have guessed. Never change a winning concept, wasn't that how the phrase went? He could just see the gleam in Lucius's cold eyes as he brought the cane down in a rapid swoop. Hard to tell which one of them got more out of it.

"You've seen this before, haven't you?" he murmured. "And you've felt it before."

Draco gave a little whimper low in his throat, and his weak hands rose in protest, or so Severus thought. Draco proved him wrong. The narrow young hands only spread the folded fabric wider, baring more skin. His shallow breath made the long stomach muscles quiver.

Draco would have made a fine sacrifice, oh yes, worthy of the Dark Lord himself. Severus grasped his own left arm, trying to blot out the Dark Mark that burned steadily under his skin. This was a sacrifice to himself, a gift on Severus's own altar. He bent his head, letting his hair fall curtain-like to cover his face as he tongued a pale pink nipple. Draco tasted of the light, of the fleeting musk that marked his kin, the scent so light it could be missed. Severus tried to fight down the need to gorge his fill, but the desire only rose higher, drowning out all outside noise until all he could hear was the roar of his own blood in his ears. Draco's hand brushed the top of his head, but there was no coercion in the touch. Severus lifted his head, eager and fearful at the same time, and caught Draco's drugged gaze. Grey wellsprings of darkness, but Severus wished to drown tonight.

Long reaches of cream-pale flesh under his hands as he mapped Draco's body, muscles wrapped tightly in skin so light it might have been deemed feminine. Should have been. There was nothing girlish about Draco: he was hard angles and cutting lines, all ice with no flame.

He was lying to himself about the flame. He knew Draco burned inside, and he knew that living fire travelled patrilineally. Inherited like any pureblood trait, but even then it was a rare one, and seemingly one that only manifested intertwined with arrogance.

Standing up, he tugged open the all-too-restrictive throat fastenings of his robes. A strange prelude to illicit passion, this, but his hands were steady as they undid the long row of buttons holding his coat closed. He wasn't proud of himself, and knew that even in the mercifully wan light of the dungeon his skin would be pale in the wrong way, all too sallow to be alluring. He never expected to hold a candle to Draco's looks, and why should he? Shrugging his shoulders, he let his robe fall, allowing it to pool around his feet like a snake's shed skin.

He could feel the weight of Draco's gaze, and knew the boy was counting the paling scars that ran along his sides. _The Malfoy mark_ , Lucius had said, laughing at the spectacle of Severus's pained twisting. The cane had ripped Severus's robes, tracing a long red line along his ribs, but Lucius's laughter had hurt a thousand times more than the strike.

He caught Draco by surprise, leaning in for an ill-aimed kiss, crushing his lips to Draco's slack mouth. He tasted the poison in Draco's kiss, let it linger on his palate so much longer than he should, let the bitterness leech into him until he could feel his mind reel under the influence. Even stakes, perhaps. Or not at all.

When he set his palms flat on the tops of Draco's pale thighs, the long legs fell open further in wordless demand. Severus's fingers were very pale against the blood-flushed flesh, and Draco's face blushed further as he moaned. Young enough to still be betrayed by his body but well old enough to know how to elicit pleasure from both himself and others. There was a pleasing flicker of demand as he grasped Severus's wrist, urging him wordlessly to tighten his hold.

Stroke and gauge as Severus's fingers slid against the velvet-smooth skin in a motion as old as time. He leaned over Draco, stealing a deep kiss. He could taste vestiges of the aconite and reminded himself he had be sparing with the kisses lest he himself fell under the influence of the potion he so skilfully had concocted. It was bitter to have to leave the kisses, because it was what he truly wanted from Draco. Not just the submission of the young and lithe body, but also the ability to claim the sweet mouth that hid such venom. Like his father, oh yes, no doubt of that. Draco was a mirror image of the young Lucius, down to the arrogant mannerisms.

Draco stretched out, unashamed, and Severus ran a hand along his calf. He had the cane within his hand's reach, and as he saw Draco steal a glance, he grasped the silver head. Twirling it slowly, he let the snake's head come to rest lightly on Draco's sternum. There was a definite shadow of tension in Draco's posture, and he stilled. Shifting his hold, Severus slid the cane higher up until the snake's head rested under Draco's chin. The sharp silver teeth bit into the skin of Draco's neck, nearly hard enough to draw blood, and the sapphire eyes of the snake glinted in the dim light. Draco's pale lips parted around a silent gasp, and his hands splayed on the dark bedsheets.

"He did this to you, didn't he?" murmured Severus, gratified at the flinch Draco gave. "Dear daddy Lucius taught you to obey him, all in the shadow of the cane." He tightened his grip, feeling the slick slide of the ebon wood. The cane was pleasantly heavy in his hand, and the light glittered off the metal rivets. "Get up," he commanded, raising the cane so that Draco's head was forced upward.

Draco obeyed, slowly sitting up, his hands splaying over the covers as he obviously tried to find his bearings. Severus let the tip of the cane rest on the edge of the bed, stabbing it at the covers between Draco's legs. The boy flinched but kept his gaze locked on Severus.

"It was a trade, I imagine," said Severus, drawing the snake's head dagger out of the sheath the cane formed. "A taste of his blood in exchange for your body. Slytherin courtship." He gave a mirthless laugh at Draco's surprised expression. "He must never have told you. It was all his devising, combining what he loved the most: pain and pleasure. It is nothing if not fitting that I should continue the tradition."

The blade was so sharp he hardly felt it cut the skin. Not too deep and not too near the veins, but still the blood flowed easily down his out-stretched arm, pooling in the palm and finally beading at the fingertips. Draco leaned his head back, touching his parted lips to Severus's fingers, his tongue arcing pink to lap up the blood. His cheeks blushed a fetching shade of rose as he swallowed the blood, as though it heated him and made his skin glow with the subtle warmth he had leeched from Severus. A greedy, ravenous little spectre, pale blonde with skin that neared the colourless.

"You know this game, I see, and you should, since pureblood family traditions as noble as this surely deserve to be continued. How many years now? Two? I am certain that you remember the first time he raised the cane." Severus stroked his hand over the curve of Draco's hip. "It made you scream, but those screams were pleas for more. More pain," he added, "and more pleasure." His nails bit into Draco's skin as he tightened his hold.

"If you're so sure of what you are saying, then by all means do what you want, Professor," said Draco, undoing Severus's grip. He did a quick almost-pivot, an elegant turn away from Severus, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the bed. His flippant tone was tripped up by the arousal that was thickening his voice.

"Can you stand what I want, I wonder?"

"What you want is what I want. I want to feel the cane, and I want you to strike me with it," insisted Draco. He stretched his hands out in front of himself, the motion fluid and ingrained. The lean muscles flexed as his fingers clenched.

There was a second of silence as Severus let the words and implication sink in. An invitation to dominate. What was more, the invitation had been clear - and the plea explicit. He tightened his hold on the cane, feeling the skin-warmed wood slide a little under his palm.

The cane arced down, a whining streak of black in the soft lamplight. As it struck, Draco arched up, his lithe body tensing. His teeth showed in a thin snarl, and he breathed in long, hissing gasps. The wide red flare across his buttocks seemed to glow, and the long muscles of Draco's back shifted as he took a tighter hold of the covers.

"Do you still want more?" Severus asked, his voice low and more hoarse than he had expected.

"Yes," came the reply, in a voice far from scared or cowed. A voice steeped in sex and want.

Tightening his hold on the cane, Severus lashed down again, hearing the thin whisper before the wood struck the skin. Another mark crisscrossed the first, forming a skewed X. Draco drew another deep breath, but did not move. Giving a satisfied smile, Severus hit again, relishing in the sound the cane made as it licked forth another red bruise across the lean thighs. Each hiss from Draco felt like flames licking over Severus's skin, each electric jolt going through his body and straight to his cock. He was exorcizing his demons in a way so full of pleasure it threatened to create a new demon out of itself.

He leaned in, resting the cane over Draco's back. Letting his nails drag down along Draco's sides, he relished in the sound of Draco's heavy breathing. As he closed his fingers around Draco's cock, the dense silence of the chamber was broken by a hissing gasp. Draco's teeth were bared, and his back arched even higher. His pale hands were fisted hard in his own discarded robes in self-imposed bondage.

How well he had been trained. Severus needed voice no commands, because Draco was nothing if not obedient when faced with the cane.

The last blow of the cane only swiped at the skin, much lighter than the previous ones. Draco still gave a hiss, shifting and scuffling his bare feet on the floor.

Regarding the deep red welts, Severus bent close, running his tongue over the heated flesh. Draco twisted, swallowing a moan and arching his back. The self-control the young man showed was remarkable. Most people would have flinched away at the first lash if not bound. The only restraints holding Draco in his place were his hands gripping the sheets.

He mouthed an accio, smiling at the perverseness of using a summoning charm for something like this, but was nevertheless gratified when the glass vial fell into his palm. Aloe vera, to soothe and slicken.

He had wanted this far too long; let it simmer away during dark nights, afraid to even let the memory float on the silver surface of the Pensieve. He kept one hand over the back of Draco's neck as he let the other slide down the boy's pale back. It was no restraint, as Draco could have dislodged the hold easily. He was no longer a little boy, easily overtaken; he was a youth now, teetering on the brink of adulthood. Almost an equal, Severus thought ruefully, yet only almost. There was so much Draco Malfoy didn't know.

Dipping his fingers into the cool and thick aloe, Severus laid his other hand on the small of Draco's back, and nudged the younger man's legs further apart with his knee. Draco sighed, lifting his head enough to be able to catch Severus's gaze. The grey eyes darkened further as Severus pushed the first joint of his finger past the tightly clenched muscle. Adding another slick finger, Severus scissored the digits and leaned in to press a kiss to the nape of Draco's neck. Adding a third finger, he licked at Draco's ear. "You're a tough one, Malfoy, but you've nothing on your father," he murmured, half to himself, nipping at the fine skin.

Draco bent his head, drawing a deep breath. As Severus began working his fingers, Draco gave voice to a stuttering moan, pushing back. Strands of platinum-pale hair slid into his face, sticking to the sweat-sheened forehead. Severus closed his eyes briefly at the feel of Draco rubbing up against him, forcing the arousal back a step. He couldn't afford to lose control now.

"You should see yourself," he murmured into Draco's ear, using his free hand to tip Draco's head up. "See what I'm doing to you. See how aroused you are."

A blush, either from lust or shame, blossomed on Draco's face, but he looked back over his shoulder, his pale grey gaze meeting Severus's near-black eyes.

"Lucius doesn't give you what you need, does he?"

Draco leaned his head back, resting a flushed cheek against Severus's shoulder. "He doesn't give me this," he said, his voice low and soft but not slurred. There was no resignation in the voice, either, Severus noted.

"And so you fall into my arms?" Severus insisted, sliding his hands up Draco's sides. "I should tell him what you are doing. Tell him that you're writhing in my arms, naked and wanton. That you've willingly tasted my blood."

Draco struggled half-heartedly in Severus's grip, turning and trying to get out of the strong hold, but found himself pinned under Severus. "That means nothing," he protested.

Severus merely smiled, splaying his hand over Draco's throat. "Ah, but it does. It means you submit. You're mine," he said. "I thought your dear father would have tutored you better when it came to the rules of this particular game."

The blood on Draco's lips was still wet, an obscenely vibrant red that cut against Draco's pale skin. The wound on Severus's arm was still open, and he could feel a narrow line of wetness slide down unmarked skin as he moved his arm too quickly. A solitary drop spattered over Draco's chest, spidering like a star. As Draco's fingers, his blunt-sharp nails, dug into the wound, Severus gave a hiss.

He grasped Draco's ankle, hooking the long leg over his shoulder. Leaning forward, he forced Draco's legs further apart, stopping mid-movement to merely watch the young man splayed out under him. Draco Malfoy, flung back over Severus's bed down in the dungeons, Draco Malfoy far from the haughty spirit he showed during the day. Now, he was reduced to a quivering, begging, writhing mass of desirous male, and each gasp that he uttered pleased Severus more than he cared to admit to himself. Severus let his hands rest on Draco's thighs, using his grip for leverage as Draco began to buck his hips. Every stuttered moan was a plea for more.

Slick as snakes and thick as thieves, the two of them, and Draco's metal-grey eyes rolled back in his head as Severus thrust in deep. The mass of candles around them blurred into a wall of dull flame, and he dug his nails into the tender skin over Draco's hipbones. The philtre was addling him despite his efforts to be careful. Draco would be marked now, sport blood-red moon crescents on his pale flesh. Blood-heat under the skin, and Severus felt like a statue made of flame. His heart was knocking at his ribs so hard it felt like his chest might shatter.

There was too little oxygen left in the air of the chamber, and he panted like he was drowning. Such base noises, like he was a simple Mudblood without any sense of decorum.

The soft nonsensical sounds Draco made could have been mistaken for Parseltongue, and it so suited him. What else would be appropriate for a Slytherin? Severus recognized his own name in the stream of words, heard the sibilants that burned his skin like coals. Every sound and moan from Draco was a personal victory, and the sheer rush of power as Draco bucked into his hold was going to his head like a violent spirit. He tightened the hold. Draco twisted further, his hands scrabbling to find purchase in the snarl of fabric that the bedspread had become. Severus bent his head to lick at the thin sheen of sweat that slicked Draco's lean chest, and couldn't resist the temptation to plant a bite on Draco's shoulder. This time, the boy actually swore out loud, but pushed back against Severus in a movement so hard and abrupt Severus nearly stumbled.

Draco's s eyes were half-closed, and a slow smile bloomed on his flushed face. Severus let himself be led for a few precious seconds, his hands closing around the high arches of Draco's hipbones. This was revenge at its coldest and sweetest.

Draco was strung taut under him, frozen in the stasis of lust, his long lean back a hard curve in the wan light. Slick-heated flesh against Severus's own, joined not entirely comfortably but searingly intently. Perfection in movement had to be abandoned, for they were both clumsy and blinded. The potion was taking its toll on Severus now, if only as a whisper in his veins. Aconite to make the blood sing in his ears, belladonna to make him lose his sight, jimsonweed to addle him and mandrake to make his mind howl. Light and dark, and he was as always the shadow stealing the living light. His lot in life, but he went with it willingly, because he knew the flames would burn their brightest before they faded to embers. Draco would burn so fiercely he would be left a pillar of ash.

Draco said nothing, only feebly mouthed breathless words that surely would have been meaningless even if voiced. There was a sharp and high hiss of a word as he climaxed, something that might have been a curse as well as a name.

The fall into the abyss seemed endless, and Severus would have sworn he saw stars rushing past his eyes. He froze, his lungs straining to draw in enough oxygen from the sparse air of the dungeon. He might have been drowning in the air for all he knew, and his spine was alive with something so close to pain. Draco was panting under him, his lithe body shivering now that the murderous tension was gone. Severus slumped forward, steadying himself with one hand. His knees slid on the sheets, and his skin slid against Draco's, slick with blood and sweat and semen. A philtre of its own, that, one born from dark and dizzying heat.

The snake's-head dagger glimmered as it rocked into the light, and he could see the bright silver curve of it was flecked with dark dried blood. His blood. The same blood that ran in crusted trails down his inner arm, the same blood whose iron-copper taste he could feel as he pressed a kiss to Draco's parted lips.

 

Night had fallen outside his dungeon windows, cauldron-black and impenetrable. The halls of the castle would be even darker, maws of shadows to scare even the most bold. However, it would also provide so convenient a cloak under the protection of which Draco could return to the Slytherin dormitories. For back he would go, even if he hobbled and stumbled under the joint influence of the philtre and the caning. _Oh yes, Malfoy_ , he thought, _the potion will burn in your blood yet. Bring that flame back to your father as a token of my fondest regards_.


End file.
